The Conference Musical
by Threnna
Summary: One conference, one week, seven days, several songs and a bunch of country personifications. More than anything, it resembles a field trip filled with seventh graders. Mainly USUK, sort of FrUk, DenNor, FraNada.
1. Loathing

**Title: **Conference – the musical

**Summary: **One conference, one week, seven days, several songs and a bunch of country personifications. More than anything, it resembles a field trip filled with seventh graders. Mainly USUK, sort of FrUk, DenNor and FraNada. Hetalia and its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, song lyrics belong to their respectable singers and song writers, and by no means do I plan to make any sort of profit with this.

**Song:** Loathing from the musical Wicked.

* * *

><p>Oh, yes. It was indeed a sight to behold. By some unknown reason the human politicians had suddenly found out that they would save a fair amount of money if they paired two and two nations in double rooms, instead of ordering a single room for each and every one of them. And so fate had it that the names on the list handed out to them, showed «Arthur Kirkland» and «Francis Bonnefoy» in the same slot. It didn't get any better when the trembling, English nation looked up to find France looking back at him. And it certainly did not get any better when Francis gave him a playful -not to mention extremely annoying cocky- wink.<p>

England twirled around. The meeting was over; the humans had left already, leaving the cursed sheet of paper behind in their wake. America looked up from feeding his several folders filled with documents of this and that to his overly stylish computer bag.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," the younger grinned. England clenched his hands into fists.

"There's been some confusion over the rooming here at the conference," he said. America's brows lifted. "But of course," England tried to regain composure, "I'll care for Sealand."

At the other end of the room, Francis was handling it all with a dandy smile. "But of course I'll rise above it," he said smoothly to Prussia. Behind him, across the floor, England clenched his teeth.

"_For I know that's how a level-headed nation should respond_.» He turned around slowly. "_There's been some confusion, for you see my room-mate is_;" France met his gaze, a pleased smile playing with his lips as he uttered the following description: "Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe."

England glared, -but then his expression changed into a smirk and he cocked his head up. "French."

France's smile went out in a flash. «"What is this feeling so sudden and new?" England put down the offending piece of paper.

"I felt the moment I laid eyes on _you.__" _Spain leaned toward Prussia, mumbling: "I have a feeling England's pointing quite far back in time," smiling.

"My pulse is rushing," France grabbed Canada's hand, flattening it to his chest.

"My head is reeling," England rolled his eyes.

"My face is flushing," France fanned his face dramatically.

"_What is this feeling?"_ they stared intensely at each other "_Fervid as a flame, does it have a name?" _they started walking toward each other with firm steps "_Yee~es!_" they stopped inches apart. "-_loathing_. _Unadulterated loathing_."

France smirked arrogantly "for your face," he swept his fingers elegantly across England's eyebrows.

"Your voice," England snapped for France's hand. France smoothly brushed around him, suddenly being behind him and slapped England's butt loudly, and when England spun around France sang:

"Your clothing," giving the English's colour a swift, smug tug. "

Two – zero to France," Prussia snickered.

"_Let's just say,"_ France flung out with his arms like the grand nation he -believed he- was. "_I loathe it all! Every little trait, however small-" _the two began circling each other "-_makes my very flesh begin to crawl,"_ England shivered.

"With simple," France purred in his ear.

"Utter," England snapped back.

"_Loathing! There's such strange exhilaration, in such total detestation." _

" It's so pure," France did a dramatic swivel -everything was dramatic with him, what a shock-.

"So strong," and England grabbed the chance to give the annoying bastard a solid kick behind. "_Though I do admit it came on fast,"_ France glared, but elegantly brushed it off by making a big deal out of rubbing his bum. "_Still I do believe that it can last-" _France winked at the staring England "-_and I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long!" _England frowned, glared, and simultaneously they spun away from each other.

Only now did they notice what had happened about the room while they had been -to put it nicely- _completely_ engulfed with one another. The results made France smirk pleased, cocking his head triumphantly upwards as he glanced across his shoulder at England. What had happened was: every nation had moved to France's 'side' of the room.

"Dear Francis, you are just too good," America grinned widely, swiftly followed up by Spain -who looked like he meant every word he sang 110% - "How do you stand it? I don't think I could." That Armada, that Armada. "_He's a terror, he's a tartar, we don't mean to show a bias, but Francis you're a martyr." _Now _that_ was some serious backup France had gained.

"We~ell," France dragged it out smugly, his wavy hair being treated with adoration by Poland. "These things are sent to try us."

"_Poor Francis__,__ forced to reside, with someone so disgusticified! – _every single head turned toward England – "_we just want to tell you; we're all on your side!" _they started walking toward England in formation with France in the lead -and for once all that military training paid off.

"_We share your loathing!_ " -Spain looked too much into it for his own good, England sending him an annoyed glare-. Circling the room slowly England and France kept facing each other. "_What is this feeling, so sudden and new?" _

"_Unadulterated loathing_," the other nations chorused eagerly. France's eyes narrowed, twinkling as he pointed superiorly down on England with his wide group of backups around him: "I felt the moment I laid eyes on _you._"

The group trapped England in a tight circle. "_For his face, his voice, his clothing!" _yanking and ruffling at the mentioned items in turn, before making way for France.

"_My pulse is rushing," _France gripped England by the neck.

- "_Let's just say," _the other nations chanted around them.

"_My head is reeling," _England in return took advantage of their standing so close and head-butted him.

-"_We loath it all!" _half of the nations gasped, and the other half scolded.

"_Oh, what is this feeling?" _England and France smiled equally sugar sweet, both with each their red forehead.

- "_Every little trait, however small,_" the nations all sang at England.

"Does it have a name," France pondered falsely.

-"_Makes our very flesh behind to crawl,_" the nations shuddered.

"Yes!" England snapped.

"_A~AH!"_ And by now, the gathered volume of all the nations had grown to such strength that any poor human passing by in the corridor outside was bound to hear them through the door -and probably wonder what on earth those country personifications were up to now.

"_Loathing," _they glared at each other, the rest of nations following suit: "_Loathing!" _

"There's such strange exhilaration," England wondered whether or not he would profit from another 100-years war.

-"_Loathing," _the other nations popped in.

"_In such total detestation," _hm, probably not.

-"_Loathing," _the nations sang.

"_It's so pure, so strong,"_ England clawed at the hand still at his neck, France winking at him.

-"_So strong!" _the nations roared.

"_Though I do admit it came on fast," _England's eyes narrowed. "_Still I do believe that it can last," _France smoothed a hand across the other's cheek. "_And I will be loathing for forever," _England, refusing to be outdone, took it and while looking up at France the entire time, kissed it in true gentleman fashion.

-"_Loathing," _the nations hollered.

"_Loathing truly, deeply," _France smiled sourly.

-"_Loathing," _the nations offered.

"_Loathing you_ ," they stared hard at each other, noses almost touching.

-"_Loathing you!" _the other nations responded faithfully.

"_My whole life long!" _they sent their last glares of utter hate before they twirled away from each other, the rest of the nations filling their lungs for a powerful ending: "_Loathing, unadulterated loathing!" _

England stood at his end of the room, hands trembling slightly from adrenaline, anger -he wasn't exactly sure what. What he did know was that his papers were making a lot more noise as he gathered them than they normally would and should have. Behind him, at the other end of the room, was France, bowing courteously to his splendid chorus -some of which didn't look so sure as to why they had actually participated, now that the moment was over.

England threw a glance over his shoulder, glaring at the lot. Gathering the last of his effects into his bag, he turned and headed for the door. However, upon a second thought he steered towards Francis, stalking up behind the clueless nation.

"BO!"

"AH!"

The startled jump of the French was more than satisfying, and England whacked his bag in the back of France's head for good measure, before exiting the room with a pleased expression. He had no doubt, his shoulders drooping a bit, that this would be the worst bloody week of his centuries long life.

* * *

><p>Ta-daaa! The first chapter :3 Hope y'all liked it, if you did, then you know the drill and if you didn't -do the drill anyway.<p>

Also, I got the idea by reading Backseat Compromises' "Life's like that"; s/6660364/1/


	2. I won't say I'm in love

**Song: **I Won't say I'm in love – from Disney's «Hercules».

* * *

><p>Already drunk after the first day. Wonderful. Well, technically it was after the second day since their welcoming and introduction meeting had been yesterday, and they had had their first proper meeting today. (How «proper» it had been was up for debate though; what with America proposing one hopeless solution after the other, and France being too busy telling Spain about this lovely lady he had met in the lobby, to really pay attention). Then again, since he was aware of the fact that he was drunk -and he was very very much aware, then it had to mean he wasn't really all that drunk at the very least.<p>

England took another sip of his brandy. He was carrying the bottle by the neck, not really having bothered to bring one of the fancy glasses from the bar when leaving. It had been one of those that sing if you drag a moist finger along the edge. It would just have been bothersome paying for the expenses if he were to be so unlucky as to break it. Bothersome, and unnecessary. Therefore it was only the bottle, and he preferred it like that anyhow. France said it was a habit he had kept from his unruly days at sea, to which England protested moodily whenever France had attach the word «unruly» or any other word of the same family to picture his teenage life.

Why he had come back up here however, he wasn't entirely sure. If it was peace and quiet he was searching for, he could just have returned back to his room. England shuddered: Then again, that would mean a bigger possibility of meeting France. Guess that answered that question.

England walked slowly along the tables. Swirling the dark liquid with a lazy wrist movement he dragged his fingers along the surface of one of the tables. _America_, the sign resting atop it read. England frowned. America. America. America. America who so stupidly had to go and kiss him on the cheek in that foolish, childish game of dare -why did centuries old nations play games of dare like thirteen year olds anyhow? He abruptly turned away from the table -only to land his eyes on another name tag.

«If there's a prize for rotten judgement,» England mumbled, picking up the sign spelling out _France_. He snorted. «I guess I've already won that.» He took another sip of the alcohol to drown out the unnecessary memories of their childhood and the unnecessary years that had followed, that abruptly rose in his mind when thinking of that annoying nation.

«No man is worth the aggravation,» he muttered to himself, putting down the bottle with a _clunk_. He leaned against the table, resting his head backwards to stare at the roof. «That's ancient history, been there, done that,» he grimaced, closing his eyes. The brandy was making the world spin slowly.

Due to his eyes being closed (and the huge amount of brandy he had gulped down that evening) the English nation had not noticed the couple of feet which had silently followed him up the eleven flights of stairs he slowly had climbed instead of taking the lift. He hadn't noticed the eyes following him as he walked down the corridor, and therefore did not notice the bodies making their soundless way into the room and up behind him.

He didn't even notice their presence when one of them whispered close by his ear: «Who'd'ya think you're kiddin'? He's the Earth and heaven to you.»

England frowned, eyes still closed.

Another voice carefully joined the first: «_Try to keep it hidden. Honey, we can see right through you_.»

England jerked up in standing position, a wobbly standing position, growling a slightly annoyed «oh no».

«Boy, ya can't conceal it_,_» the first voice purred and England faintly started to wonder if maybe he had taken one too many bottles of brandy after all. «We know how ya feel,» the second voice said helpfully. «And who you're thinking of,» a third voice stepped in. Jupp, definitely too much brandy now that his imagination was creating voices singing to him.

England flung his hand up to his ear as if to chase away a fly. «No chance,» he protested, stumbling a little. «No way, I won't say it, no, no-» and he turned around «-France?» England blinked perplex, and to make the matters worse, France was not the only one standing there either. England discovering him however, didn't seem to be much of a problem to the other. Instead he advanced past the table dividing them.

«You swoon,» France purred, sliding one hand around England's waist, caressing his cheek with the other. «You sigh,» he breathed in a very French accent.

To England's right, Italy was taking a hold of his hand, smiling air-headedly as he wondered «Why deny it?» And Prussia and Spain came in at a painfully cliché

«_Uh-oh!_»

England grimaced. «It's too cliché,» he rolled his eyes, «I won't say I'm in love.»

Prussia, Spain and Italy joined together in a cheesy «_Shoobidoo, Shoobidoo, o~oh,_» as England struggled to get free from France ooh-ing softly in his ear. England growled annoyed, finally biting France's hand and stomping on his foot, tumbling away from the nation of love.

England huffed, catching himself on a table to straighten up and dust off his clothes. What luck that it was America's desk he had grabbed onto.

«I thought my heart -» England stabbed a sneaky France behind him with his elbow «-had learned its lesson,» England glared at the whimpering man across his shoulder. Then he slowly returned to eye the polished wood of America's table. «It feels so good when you start out.» Thoughtfully he let his fingers trace the name tag, before tightening his hand into a fist. «My head is screaming get a _grip_, England... Unless you're dying to cry your heart out.» He turned away from the table.

«You keep on denying,» Prussia shook his head disapprovingly with a grin, grabbing England's hand.

«-Who you are and how you're feeling,» Spain took a hold of his other hand.

«Baby,» France, who had recovered, cupped his cheek. «We're not buying,» he stroke England with his thumb, taking a step close against the trapped nation's body. «Hon, we saw you hit the ceiling,» France smirked, no doubt referring to the game of dare. England blushed -not a good move; it only deepened France's devilish expression.

«Face it like a grown-up,» Prussia elbowed him in the side.

«What?» England growled back.

«When ya gonna own up?» Spain poked his stomach from the opposite side.

«_What?_» England repeated annoyed.

«That ya got, got, got it bad,» Italy poked his head in between him and France as if to explain.

«Wrong!» England, about as red as a strawberry by now, exclaimed. «No chance,» he flailed his arms about. «_No _way,» he broke free. «I won't say it, no, no,» and fled from his band of chorusing nations, only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted a group of six other nations who had entered, unnoticed, who knew when.

«Give up,» France smiled.

«Give in,» Italy sang, the four of them walking up to him. Spain out of the blue tripped him, Prussia catching him from behind and sticking each of his index fingers into England's mouth, pulled its corners upwards.

«Check the grin,» Prussia snickered. «You're in love.»

«This scene,» England sang with some difficulty through Prussia's fingers. «Won't play. I won't say I'm in love,» he angrily swatted the albino's hands away.

«_You're doin' flips_,» France and Spain chorused, England rubbing his cheeks. «_Read our lips,» _France and Spain pointed to each other's mouths.

«You're in love!» Prussia popped up between them, flashing a double thumbs-up.

«You're way off base,» England scoffed, glancing around; even more nations had arrived now. Germany, Japan, the Netherlands and Denmark, to name I few. «I won't say it,» England quickly shook his head, as if to try not to think of their growing audience. -A growing audience which had started «_ooh-ing_» and swaying along to the song.

«Get off my case,» England stomped away angrily. «I won't say it!» he flung his left hand defiantly up into the air.

«Mate, don't be proud,» out of nowhere Australia spun England around to face France and the lot again.

«It' O.K,» Prussia patted him on the shoulder.

«You're in love,» Italy sang dreamily swaying back and forth in front of England, America's name tag in hand.

Okay, now that was the last straw. England exploded free of his fellow nation's, giving them all -also those who had only been watching- his Britannia dark stare, sending shivers through more than one spine, briefly reminding them of a time centuries back. Then he stomped off and slammed the door shut behind him.

But, he didn't run off in a wild sprint for his room or elsewhere. He stopped, letting out a deep breath of air and leaned against the door. Inside he could hear the other nations laugh and start an eager chitchatting. They would probably stay there for a while now, transferring the party from downstairs in the bar to the conference room. Not that it bothered him, they could stay in there until the sun came up for all he cared. At least then he would have his room alone while France was partying. Though he regretted not managing to grab his brandy bottle on the way out.

England sighed, closing his eyes for a short second.

«At least out loud,» he mumbled to the air, lowering his head and looking at the floor. It had been washed already, glistening in the yellow sheen


	3. Malchik Gay

**Song:** Malchik Gay.

**Artist: **T.A.T.U

Btw "Malchik gay" is Russian and means "gay boy".

* * *

><p>He sighed. What year was it again? For a second he could not remember. Catching himself in looking at his cell phone for the calendar, he smiled bitterly at himself. Sometimes all these centuries just got to your head.<p>

2011. How long had it been? England shook his head, he could not remember. Nor did he care to either. The less he thought about it, the better. It was just stupid, really. Clutching onto his poor phone he tried to pretend he was merely reading the documents of yesterdays report, and not imaginatively burning holes right through them. At least, he tried to ease himself; at least he was grown up enough to see it for himself. Grown up. Yes indeed. England snorted, then hurried to shake it off as a cough as he got a concerned glance from Japan.

Japan was standing over by America. Apparently they were engaged in quite the interesting conversation. No doubt about a new game or movie -a horror movie, most likely. England looked away and back to his papers. Grown up yes, at least that's what you would expect a couple of millenniums to do to you. Then again, nations aged differently from humans -both on the outside and the inside. Probably to keep them sane.

But honestly. England supported himself to his assigned desk as he sat down. It was no joke any more. It wasn't even close to funny. England frowned. He was not blind. He was not as blind as everyone seemed to believe he was, and he was certainly not as blind as that stupid git. He knew what was going on, and he didn't like it one bit. And on top of that, only two days had passed of this bothersome week of meetings. Really, why did they need a week? This could have -he glanced at America- been resolved in a day or two and -he gripped onto the edges of the desk, glaring at the desk top- they could all be on their merry way back home now.

Groaning, he got back up. They had to begin soon. England quickly walked toward America, clearing his throat on the way. «America.»

Upon hearing his name, the younger blonde turned toward him.

_Handsome. _

«Yo, what's up?» and a wide grin.

_Tender_.

America's eyebrows lifted. «England, you look funny,» he poked the smaller nations forehead, «what's-»

_Soft. _

«Amérique, Germany is not quite pleased with your last hand-out,» France was standing by mentioned, displeased nation, reading through an exemplar of the same documents England had left on his desk.

England could just as well have been made in to air as America spun around and trotted over to them, eager to explain his latest plans.

_Why do you look right through me? _

England looked after him. _Thinking._ He reached out a handed, opened his mouth and- _No. _England bit his bottom lip. This was not the time to do anything stupid.

«England-san, are you all right?» Japan, also left behind by America, smiled that soft, gentle smile of an old nation.

«Oh, yes,» England returned the kind gesture. «I'm fine. Just lost in though.»

_I can't deny my feelings._

«Could you please excuse me?»

_Growing strong. _

_«_America left before I could whack some sense into him.»

_I try to keep believing._

Japan nodded understandingly, watching as England followed in the wake of the younger.

_dreaming on,_

«America!»

_And every time I see you,_

America was broken off from whatever he and the French nation was talking about, turning halfway to the sound of his name.

_I crave more,_

«Don't just run off while I'm talking to you,» England reprimanded. Acting on impulse, he put his hand on America's arm to gain his full attention.

_I wanna pull you closer_

England bit his lip inwardly upon the feel of the thick fabric of America's bomber jacket under his fingers.

_Closer _-his fingers tingled- C_loser. _America pouted an "okay" -_Closer._ England could feel America's arm move under the fabric.

"Oh, what's that?" America abruptly jerked curiously forward, pointing at something on one of the many sheets of paper Germany was holding. At his sudden forward movement England's hand fell off his arm. It fell limp down by the English nation's side.

_But you leave me feeling frozen.  
><em>  
>"Malchik gay?" Taiwan's voice reached through the crowd, and with a glance to the right England could spot Japan and Taiwan talking to Russia. Russia was smiling sweetly as usual, though did look a little curious about their sudden interest in his language. Nevertheless, he didn't really mind it, and repeated "Malchik gay", to assure them they had got it right.<p>

_I can be_

"America." He collected himself to the best of his ability.

_all you need._

"This meeting is already long overdue," he let his voice take an irritating tone.

_Won't you please_

"So get your arse moving! God, I swear sometimes it seems like you deliberately avoid looking at the time. Will you not grow up already?"

_stay with me?_

"Aw," America pouted. "You're no fun, Iggy~."

"I don't think I actually care." He did. Regardless, he ushered the younger nation along, saying something about being bloody lazy, careless and a whole bunch of other things. He wasn't really paying attention to himself.

"_Malchik gay,_" Taiwan and Japan passed by him, lost in their own little bubble, chatting together like little high school girls as they headed for their seats. England frowned. He tried to focus on not walking into anything while pushing a talking and laughing American. Obviously, being pushed through the room was extremely entertaining.

"_Malchik gay_."

He shove America down into his seat before retracting his hands. One of them slipped past the thick collar, briefly sliding across the soft skin of the American's neck. It sent a river of tingling sensations down his spine, forcing England to nearly pinch himself not to subdue to the urge of letting his hand linger there, feeling the warmth that was America and the soft-

_Apologies, might-have-been's. _

It required all England had of willpower to turn around and get his feet moving back to his own seat.

"_Malchik gay, Malchik gay." _

If possible, he would have rushed over to one of the large windows and banged his head against it. Too bad only a human would get severe and life threatening injuries from that, while for him it would only end in having to pay for a new window.

_Can't erase what I feel. _

No he bloody couldn't -he had tried-, and it was getting to be bloody annoying. What an irony that he only yesterday had been perfectly capable of denying it all with a straight face when confronted by France, and today he couldn't even get his knees to work straight. How in the queen's name had he managed to keep acting normal all those years, while he _now_ all of a sudden had to go crashing down like a plane without wings?

"_Malchik gay, gay_"

At least America looked about ready to start now. That was a slight comfort, he told himself as the American rinsed his voice. Now if only those two Asians would quick their whispering and start behaving like they used to.

"_Malchik gay."_

"So, the first topic of the day," America announced. England picked up the cup of tea he had prepared before the meeting, swirling it around with a slow wrist movement, watching the blonde talk without really hearing what he was saying.

"_Malchik gay."_

"Therefore," America reached a conclusion; England took a sip of his tea. "I think we should all take a look at my abs an-"

_Choking_

England spluttered tea all over the place and in less than two seconds had he the attention of every nation present. "Er.. M-my apologies," England said slowly, glancing around him, all too aware of all the eyes looking at him. "Could... could you please repeat that?"

_back emotion,_

America's head tilted ever so slightly. "I said that first of all, I think we should all take a look at my adds. My politicians have posted a lot of them lately, it's hard to keep up by myself," and he grinned sheepishly.

_I try to keep on hoping_

"Oh, well, yes," England cleared his throat "of course." He tried wiping off the light brown stains from his documents with a handkerchief from his pocket.

_for a way,_

He let his eyes travel across one of them, skimming through something America had written.

_a reason for us both to_

"America," he spoke, giving his voice that tone indicating he had something to complain about or use his centuries' long time of expertise to correct. "Can you please explain this to me?" England pointed to a word in the document.

_come in_

"What?" America left his post, navigating around several tables and leaned over England to read across his shoulder. He positioned one hand on the table to lean on as he read, shifting for a more comfortable stance to read more thoroughly.

_Close._

England could see the American's neck mere inches away out of the corner of his eye. He tried not to make any audible sounds as he breathed in a scent of shampoo, after-shave, cologne and that strange odour of sun always seeming to follow the younger around.

_I long for you to hold me_

His stomach curled into a tight knot that could ever possibly be released. He felt stupid. There wasn't anything he was wondering about with the document either, and when he didn't reply as America asked what the problem was, the American shifted.

_like your boyfriend does._

"England, are you okay?" England jerked, dumbfound for a second as two large pools of blue stared right at him, too close for comfort, for the poor English nation. Why did America feel the need to do this to him? Why did he, England, have to be so sensitive to this? Why did his heart have to beat faster and his palms get sweaty an-

"Why, yes of course," England brushed him off, sounding more annoyed that he meant to.

_And though my dream is_

"Okay," America pulled back. "Don't hesitant to ask if there's anything else." And the English nation was served the usual grin and a thumbs-up. He wanted to bury his face in his hands.

_slowly fading,_

This wasn't good.

_I wanna be the object_

America had already returned to his seat, spinning off some hero-blabber before continuing where they had left off.

_Object- _England wanted to ask again. _Object -_make America look his way. _Object- _but it would only be stupid.

_of your passion but it's hopeless. _

He returned to his documents and remaining tea stains.

"_Malchik gay."_

Curse his feelings. Then again, America was probably straight. Well, it was not like he himself hadn't enjoyed the company of a woman; he had, quite a few times through his centuries -_earlier_ centuries, mind you._  
><em>

"_Malchik gay."_

Mostly humans he had stumbled upon by accident and spent a few days with to get his mind off of worldly business. And then there had been The Queen. But she was had been a special case. When it came to being a nation, sexuality wasn't the same as with humans, female or male didn't matter as much- but that was beside the point.

_I can be_

His thoughts were running away with him, and now that America finally had got his lazy bum back on track, he wasn't capable of keeping focused.

However, besides being a nation, America was most likely mostly straight. That much England believed to have gathered through the years.

_all you need._

England couldn't help smiling a little when remembering a confused and lightly desperate America who had had too much fun with too many young human women in too short a period, coming to him for advice on what to do.

_Won't you please_

Then it was the fact that they would outlive any human more than a thousand times. It was painful enough seeing their greatest leaders go; getting into a serious relationship with these fragile beings was not a smart move. He had been taught that lesson already. All in all, choosing a nation was wisest.

_stay with me?_

So why not the two of them?

"_Malchik gay."_

-Oh blast it, could those two Asians stop mumbling already?-. America couldn't possibly still be angry with him? England glanced up at the nation speaking eagerly about his latest idea for solving the terrorism problem with sudden distress. _  
><em>

"_Malchik gay."_

That couldn't be it. They had long since put all those things behind them, and if there were anyone who would be angry about it all, it would be England. So that couldn't be it, but-

_Apologies, might-have-been's_

He was old, older than any human; still he was clueless of what to do. How on earth did the humans manage to find a partner (and sometimes several), get married, have children and live happily ever after in only one life time?

"_Malchik gay."_

And if he did manage to muster all his courage, despite everything, what if the result was an America who would not talk to him again?

"_Malchik gay."_

England sunk deeper into his chair.

_Can't erase what I feel_

Why did America have to be so bloody annoying and so bloody charming at the same time?

"_Malchik gay, gay."_

England wanted his brandy again.


	4. Fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt

**Song:** Fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt.

**Band:** Postgirobygget.

If anyone wanna hear the song while reading (and imagening that very few of you actually have this song), I uploaded it to youtube, so here it is:

http:/ /www. youtube. com /watch?v=LriaJuo1HGM (just remove the spaces ;D )

* * *

><p>"Hey, Iceland, have you seen N-" Denmark crashed face first with the floor.<p>

It was the third day of meetings –well, fourth if you counted the welcoming stuff-, Denmark had been up early, eaten his breakfast, heading for the conference room feeling great, only to stumble in the doorway.

Netherlands looked at him amused with lifted brows. "You okay?" Belgium next to him, asked.

Denmark's head popped up, his nose a little dirty, and he opened his mouth to answer- "Ledig gange, er roten til mye vondt," Norway, easily stepping across Denmark's legs with his face down in a book, said.

"Jeg går så anspent som jeg kan!" Denmark exclaimed after him, trying to explain, scurrying to his feet. Sadly, by the time he was up Norway was already at his assigned seat, engaged in dialogue with Iceland.

"Har nå to bein," Denmark frowned, looking down at his legs -bending and turning them a little just for the sake of it- with a sort of helpless look, "men ingen å gå med." He sighed.

"Så er det Norge," and he looked back toward the smaller, Nordic nation, "jeg kan ikke forstå det," he scratched his head confused, glancing about the room. And though he didn't see them, Finland and Sweden did see him. And, being the kind nation he was, Finland felt entitled to approach

"What is it about Norway, Denmark?" Finland gently touched his arm, making the larger nation spin around. Upon discovering who it was, Denmark grinned.

"Han er så fin-» he pointed with his thumb to Norway «-jeg vil gå bort, men kommer aldri fram.»

Sweden, -who would have prefered _not _to approach Denmark- looked from the nation in question to Norway. Though disregarding the whole thing about Norway, he instead asked: "Why'r' you talkin' N'rweg'an?"

A brief halt was put to Denmark's Norwegian ramblings as he frowned a little. "Well, Norway began, and so I just automatically –but that's beside the point!" Like mentioned; merely a _brief_ halt.

"Skulle vært jeg som tok intiativet og fikk ham til å le," Denmark pointed accusingly toward Iceland and Norway, making Finland mumbled with an overbearing smile at Denmark's behaviour: "He is not really laughing right now, though."

"Skulle vært meg han holdt rundt livet, og var den han ville prate med," Denmark complained, clinging onto Sweden's suit, only to let go at the glare he received.

"Det var alt," Denmark's hands fell down his sides, and he shrugged silently. "Kort fortalt; jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt," he looked at Finland, a strange shadow falling across his eyes. For a moment Finland was put off a little by the honest look in the normally so carefree nation. When staring at him, into those light blue eyes, he thought he could see a tinge of heartbreak far back in the old nations eyes.

-But then Denmark was assaulting Sweden's suit jacket again, continuing in a whining voice: "Jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt, Sverige!" Sweden in turn looked about ready to kill the annoying blonde, and the feeling was gone. Finland shook his head to himself.

"Den som venter forgjeves, venter på noe godt," Denmark had let go, and was now wandering into the middle of the room. By now he had also caught most of the nations present's attention, the room falling more and more silent as more nations noticed him. "Se hva jeg har fått;" he flung his arms out, "noe ufortalt."

Though they _had_ gotten quite used to the whole burst-into-talking-singing-lyrics-randomly by now, what they were _not_ used to was a nation singing in something else than English. Now _that_ made quite a few of them glance hesitatingly and questioningly at each other. Regardless, it was quite entertaining, and they had at least gathered by now that it had _something _to do with Norway, so... Besides, he also seemed to be quite passionate about whatever he was saying, so no one really felt like stopping him.

"Hva har jeg å gå på?" Denmark looked longingly at Norway. "Hva har jeg å gå til?" and stupidly optimistic he skipped across the floor toward said nation. Once there he climbed across the table, ruffling up the pages in the smaller's book in the process, and with a grin locked his arms around the much smaller nation.

"Ingenting som frister," Denmark was punched away, by air seemingly, as Norway had not lifted a finger. -Though by his own table, England jerked in a mix of awe and fright.

"Hva gjør jeg galt?" Denmark crawled back to Sweden. Sweden however, only stared at him with his stoic eyes, most likely meaning to say: 'n_ you'r r'lly askin'? _

"Skulle vært jeg som tok intiativet, og fikk ham til å le," Denmark got up on his feet, jamming his hands in his pockets with a pout. "Skulle vært meg han holdt rundt livet, og var den han ville prate med," but not lasting long, the pout was transformed into a lopsided grin and a sigh.

"Det var alt," Denmark lifted his hands as if to show there was nothing more. "Kort fortalt; jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt."

A few seats away, Japan was securely positioned with free sight to the love-sick Scandinavian nation, camera placed steadily on the table for a stable picture. He didn't find the language to be of any hindrance whatsoever; it would take him ten seconds –tops fifteen- to find someone to make the subtitles to this once he was back home.

"Skulle vært jeg som tok intiativet, og fikk ham til å le," Denmark sighed, pointing toward Norway. "Skulle vært meg han holdt rundt livet, og var den han ville prate med."

Finland looked up at Sweden, smiling a little. After all, it was quite sweet –even if the other nation could be a little obnoxious and all-over the place, and probably very annoying from Norway's point of view. Still, his feelings were honest. Finland suddenly felt very happy he had taken a summer off some fifty years back to learn the Scandinavian languages for fun (well, now adays the humans also regarded him and Iceland as a part of Scandinavia, but still, the other three were the original ones).

"Det var alt, kort fortalt; jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt," Denmark's shoulders seemed to slope down a little as he repeated it. Behind him, France smiled at England. "It makes you feel a little sorry for him, non?" and looking back at Denmark he sighed, "ah, L'amore." England however, only snorted. "Like you understand what he is singing."

"Kort fortalt, jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt," now it was clear Denmark's shoulder were hitching downwards. "Perhaps not, but the longing in his voice is evidence enough. The feelings of love don't always need a language to be understood. Dear Angleterre, you should open up for love some more," France nudged the hot-cheeked nation next to him.

"Kort fortalt, jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt." Denmark's eyes were cast downward.

For a second Italy, being the kind and romantic country he was, wanted to run over and give the bigger male a hug. He didn't know there were several with him who at that point wanted to do the exact same thing.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt, Sverige!" But apparently, he wasn't in a need of a hug after all.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva hva gjør galt, Finland!" Denmark grabbed Finland by the hand, who in turn jumped, slightly startled.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt, Amerika!" in a flash Denmark was several feet to the right, almost literally singing _in_ America's face. –Though being quite the energetic country himself, he didn't really look all that bothered with it.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva hva gjør galt, England!" England however, did look bothered with it.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva hva gjør galt, Nederland!" Denmark gripped onto the lower hem of his neighbour's shirt –ripping it out of it neatly-tucked-into-trousers-state – as he tripped when sprinting from one end of the room to the other.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva hva gjør galt-" Denmark was one second with Spain, and the other he was all over Romano. Though playing it happy all the way, a more and more desperate undertone had started to seep through his voice. Spinning around he grabbed for the next.

"Jeg fatter ikke hva hva gjør galt-" he stopped abruptly. Breathing heavily, he stared at the nation whose hand he had between his "Norge."

It was dead silent in the room. Japan used his secret ninja techniques to move without a sound so that he had a free shot again. He zoomed in until he only had the two Nordics showing on the screen. He followed closely, holding his breath, as Norway sighed and put down his book.

Norway rose, standing face to face with Denmark, the table separating them and his one hand and both of Denmark's hanging across it like an unstable bridge. Then Norway slowly extended his other hand, and if possible, the room fell even quieter. His hand lifted, every eye in the room on it, and most intense of them all was Denmark's. Norway paused for a second, then he sighed, lifted the hand above his own head and-

"Ouch!" Denmark flinched, and it was like the room was as pulled out of a trance. Denmark pouted reproachfully at him. "What was that for?" he wanted to retract one of his hands to rub the sore spot where Norway had whacked him with the "pointy" end of his palm. However, he couldn't, for the smaller nation's one hand was firmly holding onto them.

"Tulling," Norway murmured. His other hand, still resting atop Denmark's head, fisted a handful of his hair and the smaller nation yanked the larger downwards, and- _oh._

The entire room stared. Stared as the smaller, Nordic nation kissed Denmark, -and quite passionately at that. He did not seem to have any qualms about taking his sweet time about it either, and Japan felt like he could die happy now –and he was undoubtedly _not_ the only one, if Denmark's wide open eyed were anything to judge by.

Then Norway let go, flopped back down in his seat, picked up his book again, and continued reading like nothing had happened.

(Though, for those who looked very closely, it would be possible to detect a small, satisfied blush creeping across his cheeks right beneath his eyes. And Iceland was looking just that closely, but also appeared to be the one the least surprised in the entire room.)

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, so I understand that very few of you -if any at all- speak or understand Norwegian, however if you are indeed one of those who do not undrestand it, then look at it like this: Then you know how all the other nations felt while watching Denmark ;D (and so that was sort of my intention by using a nother language).<strong>

**And, btw, if you happen to want anything written in, or stranslated from or to Norwegian for your Hetalia stories (or something else for that matter) don't hesitate to ask :3 I am Norwegian myself after all.**


	5. Wannabe

**Song: **Wannabe.

**Artist: **Spice girls.

* * *

><p>There was the sound of thundering footsteps, and next thing they knew, America came bursting in through the doors. With a lively "Yo," greeting toward Japan, he headed straight for his seat for a change.<p>

Arranging his cup of coffee and doughnut in front of him, he glanced at England. England on his end was looking very angry, talking to a very smugly smiling France. America frowned and chugged down his third cup of coffee for the day. Denmark's performance the day before was still fresh in his memory as he looked at the Nordic more or less drowning Norway in his much larger body and cheerful hug -why did Denmark get so much attention anyway?-. America's frown deepened, throwing the now empty coffee cup toward a corner of the room. Denmark had gone and pulled that stunt yesterday, granting him way too much attention for America's liking. The cup hit the trash bin standing there, rolled around the edge a second and then fell in.

Next to him, Germany cleared his voice. It was Germany who would start off the meeting today. Obviously the German leaders had something very urgent stuff for the nations to discuss, so America had let him.

Germany coughed, before raising his voice to ask everyone to find their seats. America was already at his seat though, so he didn't bother to pay attention. It was about time he did _it_. He had watched so many American hero movies with romantic endings as he possibly could since they arrived here, so he couldn't get any braver than he was now. Besides, Denmark had already done it and he and Norway was now the talk of the nations, so it was just about time he spoke up as well.

So today after the meeting it was, America decided as he absent-mindedly shuffled his papers to find the page Germany requested of them to look at. This was just so much easier in movies, it was no fair. _But_, America thought to himself, this was not the time to hesitate. He was the United States of America. The_ USA_ itself, he was not _born _to hesitate.

Though regardless, he still had to pull in a _USA _deep breath to fill his big _USA_ lungs, as he went through his plan in his grand _USA _mind once again.

He did not really want to think of the outcome, but either way -and he nodded reassuringly to himself- it was just about time England erased that silly image of him as a kid and started seeing him for who he really was. America's eyes wandered to find the smaller, English nation. England had been behaving rather odd lately, America thought as he closed his eyes briefly. Maybe this was a very bad timing -he opened them again- but soon the conference would be over, and he would have no alibi to see the other in several weeks.

Germany cleared his throat next to him. "America."

America jerked to an upright position. "What?"

Germany sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "We were asking what your thoughts were on the subject." America blinked perplex.

"Tell us what you want to do about it," Germany said again, a little slower.

"...I'll tell you what I want," America hesitated for a second, but then a wickedly wide grin spread on his face as his eyes twinkled teasingly "what I _really really _want."

Germany's eyebrows knitted slightly together, looking a little confused as he slowly inquired: "So tell me what you want, what you 'really really' want."

America jumped up from his seat, the chair's legs protesting against the floor. This was as good a time as any: "I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want," and he looked out across all the nations assembled, who in turn looked back at him surprised.

-Except for one. _One_ of them leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing with his lips, and he replied "So tell me what you want, what you really really want," with great ease. A brief moment every head turned toward France.

"I wanna," seven quick steps from his seat to another's. "I wanna," Confused and equally surprised eyes followed his every move. "I wanna" America slammed his hands onto the English's desk. "I wanna" England's eyes widened "I wanna really really" a hand under his chin tilted his head upwards "wanna zigazig" America's breath tickled against his li-

"Ah!" Face red and flustered, England stood glaring at the American he had forcefully pushed away. America looked utterly perplex for a second, but the he pouted. Why did England have to be like that?

"If you want my future," America closed in again with a frown. "Forget," he leaned against the table. "My," he spoke clearly. "Past," and for a second he stared deeply into the other's eyes, the almost annoyed sound in his voice shocking the English even more. But then the second ended, and America abruptly huffed, going back to his grinning self.

"If you wanna get with me," he pushed himself back a few steps. "Better make it fast," he winked.

But though England was frowning, he did look like he had regained some of his composure from the surprise, at least. He straightened his chair, reorganizing documents America had sent in full disarray somewhere along the way, not even looking up as he unimpressed replied: "Now, don't go wasting my precious time."

America, not easily swayed, grabbed England's chin, forcing it up. "Get your act together," America said, suddenly sounding oddly calm and reprimanding. "We could be just fine," he left a now completely baffled England by the table as he headed for the middle of the floor.

He flung his hands out. "I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want," he walked leisurely about the room.

"So tell me what you want," France complied. "_What you really really want_," Italy, Prussia and Spain popped in.

"I wanna, I wanna, I wanna," America jerked his hips cockily for each time, receiving the "_hah_!" from the rest of the nations in return. "I wanna really, really really," America turned toward England again. "Wanna zigazig," a rapid boogie-movement, "ahh," and a smooth slide along the floor, he still had his eyes locked on the English clearly battling inwardly for control of his facial expressions.

"If you wanna be my lover,"

"What?" England frowned.

"You gotta get with my friends," America spread out his arms, taking a spin around, motioning to all the nations around. England rolled his eyes,

"Oh please."

A few feet away, a certain member of the nations had whipped out his recording equipment, the red _rec_sign glaring eagerly in the corner of his screen, a long long time ago.

"_Make it last forever," _the rest of the nations joined in, all of them looking at England who in turn was trying not to let all this affect his handling of the documents. "_Friendship never ends!" _

"If you wanna be my lover," America winked at an England staring furiously at his documents. "You have got to give, taking is too easy," America nodded with a huff. "_But that's the way it is." _

France watched the two very -_very_- closely from his seat.

"So," America stood still for a moment, looking at all the other nations assembled. Then he turned around toward England. "What do you think about that?" America strolled toward him, England stiffening in his seat, documents quiet in his grasp. America stopped right in front of him, hands in pockets and a wide grin. "Now you know how I feel." And he looked truly pleased with himself.

However, if America was confident he had England completely off balance by now, he was severely underestimating both England's age and experience. Suddenly the Brit didn't look like he was falling apart in front of America. Instead he put his documents down calmly, and sighed. "Say you can handle my love?"

There was a slight change in America's face and unconsciously he took half a step backwards. England looked up.

"Are you for real?" he looked America dead in the eye with a scoff.

It was only a second of wavering, but it was there. Yet America was not easily scared off. "I won't be hasty," he shrugged, tilting his head a little. "I'll give you a try," he smiled lopsidedly.

England snorted and shook his head slowly, but then his rose, pushing off from the table. "If you really bug me," he eyed America leisurely. "Then I'll say goodbye," and he pinched America's nose. "Boy," he added under his breath, though America clearly heard it.

Now this was good, England decided. He was not going to fall for this, this _act_ of America's. That would be the last thing he did. -That, and looking in France's direction.

"I'll tell you what I want," America wriggled free of England. "What I really really want," now there was a clear tint of annoyance to his voice.

"_So tell me what you want, what you really really want,_" the others chorused eagerly, and in the flick of an eye any hint of frustration or anger was gone from the American. Instead he spun around to the others with open arms.

"I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig!" he performed a few groovy moves to the elated applause of his fellow nations.

"_If you wanna be my lover," _they were all on their feet now. "_You gotta get with my friends!" _and steadily closing in on England. "_Make it last forever," _who didn't look a hundredth as excited or eager as they were. "_Friendship never ends." _That wasn't really a wonder, though.

_"If you wanna be my lover." _They were annoyingly close to him now. _"You have got to give." _Close-enough-to-touch-and-feel type of close. And they obviously had no kinds of qualms about _doing_ just that either.

_"Taking is too easy." _A hand slipped in-between England's legs. The English nation jolted, eyes widening until it nearly hurt in the corners. But it lasted only a second, for then-_ "but that's the way it is!" -_someone grabbed a hold of the chair, and the chair and him were pulled far, far away from the safety of desks and documents.

"So," a hole the size of a door opened in the crowd. "Here's a story from a to z," America stood there. "You wanna get with me," he took his time strolling towards an England who suddenly found his every limb tied down to the chair.

"You gotta listen carefully," America wiggled a finger disapprovingly at the struggling English.

"We got em in the place who likes it in your face," someone poked England's nose.

"We got g like mc who likes it on an," someone sang, and in the mess England could feel hands tugging lightly at his arms. Another voice broke in: "Easy v doesn't come for free-" Spain's face popped up in front of him. "He's a real lady," he smiled, France suddenly appearing on the small, clear spot in front of England, pulling off a few amazing moves.

"And as for me," America's eyes twinkled, France spinning out of the way. "You'll see," he winked.

"_Slam your body down and wind it all around,_" Denmark and Prussia came out of nowhere, slamming in back-to-back in front of England. "_Slam your body down and wind it all around!" _They grinningly performed a very suggestive dance mere half a foot away from England, leaning against each other's back the entire time, so all in all it was really very impressive.

"_If you wanna be my lover_," the nations howled as America separated the two crazy, old nations.

"You gotta get with my friends," America rested his hands for a second on the two's shoulders, smiling at a writhing England.

"Make it last forever," America came even closer, and leaned one hand at each of the arm rests. "Friendship never ends," he looked at the squirming English going still mere inches away from him.  
>"If you wanna be my lover," America's gaze started travelling downwards, and to his horror England felt hands reaching around the simple back of his chair to paw at the different parts of his suit. One hand found the knot of his tie, and pulled it off him with one, swift movement.<p>

"You have got to give."

England went cold under America's gaze: The upper button of his shirt was loosened.

"Taking is too easy," America hummed. He was not looking at England's face at all any more, and though parts of him did not want to, England looked down as his mouth went dry. "But that's the way it is." Button by button was popped open.

"If you wanna be my lover," America briefly glanced up into England's face. "You gotta," he wet his lips. "You gotta," the last button was history. "You gotta," the fabrick of his shirt shuffled across England's skin which felt all too sensitive right now. "You gotta," Alfred breathed against England's face "you gotta," America shifted his grasp on the arm rests.

"S_lam_," England's breath hitched "_slam_," finger tips brushed against his bare chest "_slam_," America's gaze flowed south "_slam_." England clamped his eyes shut.

"Slam your body down and wind it all around," -and popped them open again. England's stared frantically downwards. America's hand was flat to his chest, but his eyes were watching bellow that, as hands from behind yanked a hold of the hem of England's trousers.

"Slam your body down and wind it all around," America absentmindedly sang, England's blood pressure rising dangerously as he wide-eyedly watched the fingers open his button, and un-zip him with a simple tug. America's hand descended gradually, tracing along England's chest, down and across his abdomen.

"Slam your body down and wind it all around," his fingers did a twirl around England's bellybutton, England's chest heaving for a breath he was furiously trying to control. "Slam your body down," America's head dipped forwards, his lips forming a grin against the nape of England's neck "zigazig" his fingers slipped underneath the elastic band of his boxers.

"**Ame-**_!" _

A dozen hands silenced England by covering his mouth, twice as many voices going: "_Ah~._" Beneath them, America was busy with England's neck, and slyly teasing the elastic band. He felt quite proud as he felt England tremble against him; glad he finally got this on the table and had managed to pull it off so perfectly, as well. What else to be expected of the romance movie specialist Am-

Something wet hit his ear. Frowning, America abruptly pulled back. Across the many hands keeping England's lips shut, flowed big tears from eyes with tightly knit brows crowning them.

"England?" America started confused. The hands retreated, some slower than others in varying degrees of confusion.

The English nation hiccupped, attempting to keep back his tears, but failing miserably. "You idiot!" he finally gasped, making America wince and letting go of the chair. "What do you think you are doing?" England looked down, tilting and angling his head, trying to brush his tears off on his shoulder. It didn't work out very well.

"The reckless behaviour of your outrageous teenage population has finally gotten to your head, I see," England scoffed bitterly, voice trembling. Behind him several nations nodded enlightened at each other. That would explain a whole lot, and a few of them had already wondered a few times why they had never seen that aspect in America's everyday behaviour, after watching all those American movies released now adays.

England continued to hiccup and gasps a few more minutes, America standing, for once, speechlessly in front of him.

"What do you think you were doing, you idiot?" tears still streaked England's face, a horribly hot blush still lingering on his cheeks caused by his state of clothes and posture. "Everyone has been getting off with all this singing business," he shook his head with yet a scoff. "What on earth were you trying to say with that kind of song?"

It was quiet a long while, America glancing back and forth a little, before a low, soft mumble escaped his lips, making England's eyes widen by the sheepish sincerity of it:

"If you wanna be my lover."

* * *

><p>After that there was a whole lot more crying while America loosened his ties and lifted him up into his arms. And though England had protested meekly, he was still carried off in the end. So even for the brave fight he put up, he still ended up bloody falling for it anyway, this thing of America's.<p> 


	6. Hypnotised

**Song:** Hypnotised

**Artist:** McFly.

* * *

><p>Well, it wasn't like he hadn't liked it. Because he had. –He just did not really feel like saying so aloud. What the problem was though, was that America was able to walk beside him with his same cup of coffee and ordinary paper bag of doughnuts, looking like it was just some other ordinary, normal day of work, and like nothing had happened the night just past. Like they had not just- cough.<p>

England followed the intricate pattern of the floor tiles carefully with his eyes as they walked, trying not to let on how sore his hips felt. He was not _not_ used to it –England closed his eyes briefly-, God knew he was more than acquainted to that sort of act. Though it _had_ been rather long since the last time. Things just did not work the same way they did when he was younger, he did not have as much spare time now as he did then. He had also –he had to admit with a frown- been a little –just a tiny bit- more easygoing on such things in his earlier days.

And now, the result of growing up and the loss of time was an annoying ache in his lower back regions.

They had reached their destination, England halfway through pulling in a deep breath when America opened the door without stopping in the least.

"Hey! Wai-!"

England's exclaim was too late; the door was already open and the puzzled blinking American had not given the island nation a single second to gain his composure before entering the conference room.

England froze, the humming chitchat filling the room less than a second earlier now dead to the world. Every head was turned toward the door. If he could, he would have grabbed America and sprinted for dear life out of there –though he was doubtful his hips would allow that, so there was no other choice than to grin and bear. Therefore he corrected his already straight tie and without looking at anyone, he headed for his seat. If only he could reach it without any obstacles, he would be fine.

Then again, as he kept his gaze locked at the desk and chair, he was not entirely sure _how _fine. And by the time he had walked three fourths of the way, he was not sure he wanted to _sit_ down at all any more.

However, a bat of an eyelid later, that would no longer be his biggest concern, as France's voice suddenly bore through the room, halting England in his tracks.

From across the room, France sighed dramatically, Spain, Prussia and some others making a tiny audience in front of him. "I still recall the time when England was mine-" another dramatic sigh "-then one day he just threw me away, like I was worth nothing more than a dirty pence." France struck a dramatic pose of despair. "I believed it was destiny when we were put in the same room. 'Finally', I thought, 'this is a chance from the heavens for us to come together again in perfect harmony'. But then yesterday whe-"

England had opened his mouth to protest, but someone else stole his march: "Wonder how many times he has to throw you out for you to get the picture."

England's eyes grew round. "Fr- _America?_"

Without anyone noticing, America had crossed the floor and was suddenly standing right in front of France. And if that was not enough, he was displaying everything else than his normal, goofy self.

There was a moment of silence, and then America rummaged briefly through his bag, pulling out a thin, long object. "Here," he said. "You forgot your toothbrush."

France slowly reached out a hand and took it. Looking from the thin object, to England, to America and finally back to the toothbrush, his mouth opened again: "I feel like I've been here once before," he put the toothbrush in his pocket and stared straight at England. "You threw my bags out through the door and in the road," he leaned his forehead to his hand most dramatically, England muttering

"It was out in the corridor, though."

"I came home," France turned to all the assembled nations, "to find them on the floor." Fortunately enough, France's head was turned away at that moment, or else England would have murdered him for the wicked glint in his eyes. Instead everyone else's head turned to England who furiously tried to hide a blush; France had truly chosen to enter the hotel room at the most unfortunate point of time. Who could blame England for merely chucking all of France's belongings out the door in a hurry?

"And as the rain began to pour," France had made his way to the window "I got cold." He leaned against it, the sky outside a fitting grey.

"And I tried to compromise," his voice feigned perfect despair as he abruptly spun around toward England "But you keep telling all these lies!" He threw his arms open, mastering the art of acting to perfection.

"I wasn't telling any lies," England rolled his eyes annoyed. This Frenchie was just so full of rubbish today, England's imagination couldn't decide how best to _execute_ him.

"Now," France's arms fell down. "I don't get to say my last goodbyes," he looked away again. "Good bye to you've been _wasting_," France tightened his fists and stressed the word 'wasting' with a sore voice. "All my time. You're no longer mine," he brought his hands up to his chest with false tenderness, Arthur huffing.

"And now you've left me." France closed his eyes briefly.

Prussia and Spain bumped into England on each their side of him. "That's really cold, dude," Prussia said, though grinning so widely England could only groan at how obviously entertaining Prussia found these singing-moments.

"I can't seem to get you off my mind," France sent England a meaningful long stare, taking half a step towards him, America frowning annoyed. "That's when I realised you had me hypnotised."

Then, the tempo suddenly changed. In the blink of an eye France had left his depressed window, and was instead walking briskly among the nations, who, to top it off, had started snapping their fingers rhythmically.

"Why am I now living on my own?" France lifted his arms with the question. "He keeps inviting people home all the time," he huffed like a worried parent, showing to England with an elegant gesture. At the other end of it, England's face heated up all the way to his hair roots.

"I do not!" he protested loudly, Prussia 'tsk'-ing at him from one side, still with his skull-splitting grin, and Spain laughing at him from the other side.

"I think he is hinting toward your colonial times, England-san" Japan tried to helpfully explain. A silently buzzing camera was securely hid behind his back.

"Why am I still paying for his phone?" France shook his head with a hopeless smile. "When all the luxuries he owns should be mine."

"What?" England glared at France. "You lying wanker! Who was it that tried forcing _me_ to _marry him_, because _he_ didn't have _enough money_?" France however, completely and fully ignored him.

"Now I start to wonder why," he sang, eyeing England as he closed in on him. "You shrug me off when I say 'hi'," he slid a hand along England's arm, the English nation ripping it away.

"Are you seriously wondering about that?" he snapped.

"You treat me so bad," France cooed, next having to jump back several feet to avoid an annoyed, English fist. "Despite how hard I try," France scoffed, shrugging as he strutted about the room, receiving several –over exaggerated, England noted- pitying stares as France dramatically continued:

"Goodbye to you've been wasting all my time," he dried away an imaginary tear, turning toward England again. "You're no longer mine," and he reached out for England, even though he was not actually within reaching-distance.

"And now you've left me," France's arms had slid back in place and he paced around America once, coming up behind England. "I can't seem to get you off my mind," he purred into the Brit's ear, sighing as he slipped an arm around England's waist. Prussia and Spain stepped away with each their –every different- grin. England deeply wished Spain had another armada, so he could sink it just for the hell of it.

"That's when I realised," France turned England around to look into is face, intruding way too far into the Brit's person space. "You had me hypnotised," France breathed against the smaller's lips, a glint in his eyes.

Though that was about where the mighty USA drew the line. With a frown and an annoyed pout he hooked his arms around England's shoulders and pulled him out of France's grip with a stare. France smiled, sighed, shrugged and shook his head.

"Boy, you can't hold me back no more," he eyed the gathering of nations, who echoed a sloppy

"_more, more, more." _

England groaned, America frowned and Italy sang blissfully next to them.

"You're not even worth me writing lyrics for," France tapped England's nose.

"It wasn't you who wrote these lyrics," the British barked back, but was yet again _completely and fully _ignored.

France sloped his head to the left, titled his hips, leaned his chin in his hand, the arm's elbow resting on his other arm draped across his midriff. He appeared to scan England for a second, before saying –if possibly a little calmer than before, but no one seemed to notice save for England who frowned- "We had something good together." Then it was gone. "Do you think you were being clever?" France looked England up and down again, the nations chorusing

"_Ahh~aahhh"_ while swaying back and forth around them.

"To throw me out in awful weather-"

"It was out in the _corridor_ darn it! There is no weather in a bloody _corridor_!"

"-How do I forget you now?" France started a new, leisure pacing around England who was still tightly in America's grip. The other nations inched closer. Behind them all, Canada retreated to his desk, giving up on catching a glimpse when no one noticed him pushing lightly to get a spot anyway. He had a feeling France was up to no good anyway, so he found it best to keep his distance.

France had given America's ass a quick slap, earning a yelp from the younger nation and a half let-go of England. But then he instead tightened his grip even more, following France with his eyes with a guarded look. The Frenchman on the other hand, disregarded the American all together and pulled a hand through England's hair before America could yank him away again. England himself was not really keen on being treated as a ragdoll and would have made America _very_ well aware a long time ago already, had not the nation waiting for him to be freed putting him off just as much.

"I can't get you off my mind," France followed leisurely, not the least thrown off by the poor American, who next found himself pressed against a table. France was flamboyant, attention craving, a pervert and the country of love, but he was _good_ at what he did. He smiled pleased at the now trapped American, leaning in and cupping England's cheek.

"That's when I realised," he sang coyly –a complete act, of course-, pressing himself closer to the English and giving him a pouting look. "You had me hypnotised." His lips were dangerously close to the English's own.

And that's when America copied his many action movies and did a rather bold back-role across the table, England squeaking surprised, and landing on his feet on the other side. He got quite a few surprised –not to mention impressed- glances.

France stared for a second, then he sighed and smiled, shaking his head nonchalantly. Between them stood the table, firm as the Berlin Wall.

"Goodbye to you've been wasting-" France lifted one his hands "-all my time," waving easily at them. "You're no longer mine-" he struck a dramatic pose "-and now you've left me." Francis gave America a last, quick –and very obvious- once-over as if to properly show the world exactly what England was 'leaving' him for.

"I can't seem to get you off my mind~."

Around them, the rest of the nations ended the song with very unfitting jazz hands. Canada sighed.


	7. Tonight I'm fucking you

**Song: **Tonight I'm fucking you. (do pardon my French, if not to mention the following chapter's French from the Frenchman).

**Artist: **Enrique Iglesias.

(P.S, this is like a direct continuation of last chapter, so the first, short sentence might not make sense if you don't remember how last chap ended ;p )

* * *

><p>And he had every right to. For as France found his seat, he had a rather pondering expression on his face, and Canada was sure would wreak havoc once again in not all too long. After all, the French was just too fond of eyes being glued to him to piped down now.<p>

France on his end was humming. This was their last day of meetings, and tomorrow everyone would return to their respectable houses. And what a week it had been. France nodded to himself. It had been rather entertaining, as bothering his fiendish 'friend' from across the channel never bored him.

However, and France stopped his shuffling of documents, looking thoughtfully down at them. It was perhaps time to stop aimlessly playing around and do what he had planned when first coming to this meeting. After all, going to a week of meetings for the mere sake of the meetings was no fun, and France would have had no problem coming up with a –very good- reason as to why he could not possibly attend. So of course the French nation had had an alternate motive for coming, and if he did not want the extra ticket he had bought back to his house to go to waste, he would have to get to work. Meetings could wait.

And so it was that mere minutes since France's –in England's eyes- outrageous appearance, with France just having turned away from them, England finally wriggling free from the larger American, not really having the heart to scold him –or the energy, as all the jumping around had done nothing for his poor back and behind-, the jazz hands were falling in line and England starting going through his suitcase for the day's files, that he did not sense the not-at-all-done atmosphere.

However, Ludwig did, for a grave change, and sent his brother a very hopeless stare attached to a very tired sigh. The albino on the other hand, didn't notice at all.

Another who noticed, was Canada.

France nudged Prussia and Spain. Prussia grinned widely. "Hit it?" He said, speaking the French's thoughts. And so, when suddenly nine of the nations bellowed out a "_"_, with far too much enthusiasm, England noticed as well.

At the second "_"_, everyone was 'you'-ing except England, America, Germany, Canada and France. The last mentioned making a big show of loosening the buttons of his jacket.

At the third, Canada sank deep into his chair, suddenly understanding that being invisible wasn't such a bad thing on a daily basis, considering the tens of nations now howling '_you_' at him very much aware of his existence right now –_France_ standing in the middle of them all.

When the third "_" _had ended, it was quiet for a little while, and a brief, thankful second Canada thought that would be it. That it was just some random aftermath. Sadly though, as France let his jacket fall to the floor and very slowly turned to look at him with glinting eyes, his hopes were crushed, gutted and executed.

"I know you want me," France began. England stared. America stared as well. Canada most definitely stared.

"I made it obvious I want you too," France sloped his head to the side, blowing Canada a kiss that would mark the poor nation for the rest of his life.

"So put it on me," France did the most anyone could out of each step he took towards the Canadian. And as the poor northern nation watched, he could not help wonder exactly for _how long_France had 'wanted him too'.

"Let's remove the space between me and you," France was close enough to lean against Canada's arm rests. The heavily accented voice purred as their faces where inches apart. _Not very long, most likely,_ Canada decided with an inwardly, hopeless sigh.

"Now rock your body," France scanned down Canada. "Oooh," he grinned lightly, really purring like a cat as if his view pleased him. Feeling most of the blood leave his face, Canada searched for an alternate escape rout from the chair.

"Damn I like the way that you move." France let go of a blissful huff. Canada felt like crying from the terror, face going white into almost bluish. He could not find any. Behind them England looked like he was about to explode. _The way you move_, indeed, the poor lad was obviously trying to _get away_! And with good reason.

"So give it to me," France hummed, taking a gentle hold of Canada's chin and turning his face towards himself.

"_Oooo-oooh_," Prussia and Denmark came in –not hitting a single note.

"Cause I already know what you wanna do."

_W__ell, we __**all**__ know what __**you**__ wanna do, _was the communal thought that rang through them all in a rare moment full agreement –a moment that was much sought for in actual serious meetings-.

"Here's the situation," France let go of the Canadian and chair all together, spinning backwards a few steps with his arms stretched out to introduce Canada to the rest of the room.

"Been to every nation," France smiled.

"No shit," America said openly.

"Nobody's ever made me feel the way that you do," France nailed Canada to the chair with a single glance. "You know my motivation," France stepped onto a chair and then a table in one fleeting motion. "Given my reputation," and he spread his arms again, turning around a little as all the nations were gathered around his table. All of which having seen the inside of France's trousers and been under his duvet.

"Please excuse me," France puckered his lips. "I don't mean to be rude," he smiled in false coyness. "But," and his eyes lit up with such passion they were literally glowing.

"Tonight I'm fucking you." It was stated as a blunt fact.

"_Oh, you know~"_ the nations around the table cooed.

"That tonight I'm fucking you," France let his hands travel down his body.

"_Oh, you know_~" every nations head turned to Canada.

"That tonight I'm fucking you," France danced circles with his hips.

"_Oh, you know~_", in Canada's ears it sounded like they sang the certainty of his doom.

"That tonight I'm fucking you," France pointed to him. Canada had no doubt they probably were.

"_Oh, you know~._" And France proceeded to stand at the edge of the table, falling backwards to be caught by his waiting chorus and audience. He struck a comfortable pose as he lay supported by many hands, and then they started passing him over through the crowd.

"You're so damn pretty," France winked, reaching the end of the living baggage reclaim.

"I'd say he his more like 'cute'," America noted, receiving an elbow in the gut from the annoyed English next to him.

France got back on his feet, tilting his hips a little. "If I had a type," he faked a ponder with a finger to his cheek. "Then baby," his eyes shone as he laid his eyes on Canada. "It'd be you." Canada swallowed hard.

"I know you're ready," France took a step closer. Canada wasn't so sure he agreed.

"If I never lied," France encircled Canada's chair. "Then baby you'd be the truth," he stopped behind him.

"Here's the situation," France leaned down, resting one hand on Canada's shoulder and lowering his head next to the Canadian's so they could look at each other. France sighed. "Been to ever nation," he used his free hand to show with a sweeping motion to the audience-ing and '_oooh_'-ing nations in front of them, some of them flushing, others grinning and some looking absolutely horrified –England, for instance- when his hand passed them.

"Nobody's ever made me feel the way that you do," France blew into Canada's ear briefly, earning a surprised –and very pleasing- yelp. "You know my motivation," France purred, the hand on Canada's shoulder starting an experienced travel down the younger's chest.

"_Given his reputation_," ninety eight percent of the other nations abruptly broke in, Russia in particular putting a lot of effort into their hip-rolling, scary quite a few to stand on a several feet's distance.

"Please excuse me," France chuckled at the view –nothing could scare him, as long as it was sexual-. "I don't mean to be rude."

"Really?" Canada asked, his voice much more of a squeak than intended, as he did not really believe France for a second.

"But tonight," France undid the nation's first shirt button. "I'm fucking you~."

"_Oh, you know~," _the nation's broke into an all-freestyle dancing.

"That tonight I'm fucking you," France hummed, undoing the next button.

"_Oh, you know~._"

"That tonight I'm fucking you," yet another button.

"_Oh, you know~._"

"That tonight I'm fucking you." And then the next third, forth and fifth button. Canada squirmed as France's finger slid against his exposed skin.

"_Oh, you know~."_ Canada's breath of relief as France's hands disappeared was but a short one. For now France strolled back to end up in front of him, the pace of the song and dancing and '_oooh_'-ing changing drastically all together.

"Tonight I'm gonna do," France smiled. "Everything that I want with you."

"Everything?" Canada's voice was for sure nothing but a squeak this time_._

"Everything that you need," France caressed the younger's cheek. "Everything that you want." He leaned in closer, leaning his other hand to the armrest. "I wanna, honey," his breath ghosted across the Canadian's lips as France seemed to inspect his face with curved lips.

"I wanna stunt with you," France's hands slipped around Canada.

"From the window," and in a motion far too elegant than what should be possible for the move he proceeded to do, he had lifted the Canadian out of his chair, "to the wall." Canada hiccupped in surprise.

"Gonna give you my all," France assured with a smile, the Canadian freezing still in his arms. "Winter and summertime," France hummed pleased, "when I get you on the springs," his face so close Canada barely dared breathe. The hand around his back slid along the hem of the Canadian's trousers. "Imma make you fall."

Then Canada's feet were let go to gently swing down onto the floor, Canada himself gasping as he didn't manage to cry out properly in surprise.

"You got that body," France winked, his left hand feeling Canada's shape as it found its way to rest at his waist. "That make me wanna get up on the floor," France led Canada with him to the middle of the floor, "just to see you dance." And with another confident smile and teasing glint of his eyes, he led Canada into a dance, to everyone's (those who were '_oooh_'-ing enthusiastically even stopped for a second to stare) clear surprise.

"And I love the way you shake that ass,"

"I- I am not!" Canada protested meekly, but just made France's teasing smile widen.

"Turn around and let me see them pants," and he twirled Canada around with one hand, before returning his hold on his waist –his hand having slipped several inches further down, mind-.

"You're stuck with me," France nodded to the mob of nations, who –at everyone day except from right now- never took much notice of Canada.

"I'm stuck with you," France pointed to England with his right hand, intertwined with Canada's, an over exaggerated sigh hopping from his mouth merely for the sake of making the English annoyed. –Which he managed without trouble.

"Let's find something to do," France returned his full attention to Canada who gulped. "Please, excuse me," France pulled their intertwined hands to him, giving Canada's fingers a butterfly kiss.

"I don't mean to be rude," France glanced at him from across their hands, making him pull in a sharp breath.

"But tonight I'm fucking you," France continued leading him around the room in an elegant dance.

"_Oh, you know~,_" the nations around started up again.

"That tonight I'm fucking you," France swung Canada out, only to twirl him back in to a close embrace, stopping their movement across the floor.

"_Oh, __**you know**_~." Yes, he knew. Very much so.

"That tonight, I'm loving you," And with that as a humming tone in the back of his throat, France swooped down to give him a proper and sweet, French kiss in all it's glory.

* * *

><p>When they finally parted, Prussia –with a scull-splitting grin- and Spain –with an impressed 'Oh'- clapping and America laughing, Canada was thoroughly red from cheek to cheek.<p>

"I don't get you," England then huffed, breaking France's gaze into the younger nation's eyes. The Brit looked at them –well, really just France- with a sort of malicious humour in his eyes. "You sing like you were going to do him right then and there on the floor, and then you start _dancing?_"

But France disarmed him with a single smile, pressing Canada's fingers to his lips again. "A true _gentleman_ woos his chosen one with subtlety and charm. There is a _reason_, my dear Angleterre, that I am the country of love and you not, as you seem unable to understand even that much."

And thus he offered his hand to Canada, who was either too embarrassed or too blown away to do refuse, and left the room, with poor –and forgotten- meeting never have gotten a single chance to get even close to beginning.

But that was completely without importance, as France's extra flight ticket now was occupied.


	8. We're all in this together

**Song:** We're all in this together.

**From:** High school musical, 1.

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><p>And so dawned the day of closure and departure. The final briefing and summary of the week had been held, and now the countries were shaking each other's human's hands out of politeness, all really just wanting to leave and get back to their houses. It had –all taken into consideration- been a rather successful conference, and the humans were quite pleased, bidding every country farewell with a smile –then again, they did not know what had really been going on after they had left each and every day, which all the nations had silently agreed was probably for the best.<p>

But at least the humans –while the nations had been busy doing everything else- had managed sort some things out, and seeing as no new conflicts had been brought into life as well, this week should really be regarded as a thoroughly successful seven days of meetings.

"Together," Denmark detected his politician saying to one of Norway's. They had agreed on working on a more fluent sea-transport between the two, and would start working on it _together_ as soon as they got back to their respectable country.

"Together!" Italy bounced over to Germany gleefully, as their politicians shook hands, finally coming to an understanding on an import problem they had been arguing over for quite sometime.

"Together everyone~," America hummed, distractedly popping a lollipop in his mouth. Several nations stared at him.

It was quiet for exactly six seconds. Then:

"_Together, together_."

"Come on let's have some fun!" Denmark hooked one arm around each Prussia's and England's necks.

"_Together, we're here for each other every time," _America pulled Canada, Norway and eight other countries to him in a smothering hug before creating a longer line attached to Denmark and the two others.

Soon every nation was in.

"_Together, together," _they formed a circle. "_Come on, let's do this right!" _It was about time they got serious about ruling the world, after all.

Poland jumped into the middle, pulled Lithuania with him and did a twirl. "Here and now," he sing-songed prettily. "It's time for celebration."

"Hell yeah!" Denmark and Prussia agreed.

"I finally figured out~," Italy popped up in-between them happily.

"_Yeah, yeah," _the rest of the nations followed eagerly, their human politicians staring with a mix of absolute surprise and shock, and the deepest horror.

"That all our dreams have no limitation," Norway held up a map with his old dead-panned expression, pointing to his coasts practically dripping with oil.

"That's what it's all about," Russia smiled, his arm suddenly around Norway's shoulders.

"… _Yeah, yeah!_"

"Everyone is special in their own way," France smiled, playing with a rose he –obviously- had held hidden in his pocket.

"We make each other strong!" America roared with the widest grin in history, guns pointing in every direction.

"_We make each other strong~_" the other nations followed suit. The horrified humans saw the world's end draw near.

"We're not the same," Austria corrected his glasses.

"We're different in a good way~," Italy latched onto his arm with blissful eyes.

"_Together's where we belong!_" And everyone held hands, walking around in a big circle. "_We're all in this to-" _

…

"Right then. Hope everyone has a safe trip home."

"Right- See you next conference."

"Yeah, see ya!"

"Don't forget to fax those files over later."

"I won't Austria."

"Like, see you later Lithuania."

"Stay on your side of the channel, Frog."

And in the wink of an eye, every nation had scurried out of the doors. The poor humans didn't know what to think.

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><p>Haha, and that marks the end of the conference and this song-fic. Hope you all liked it, and PLEEEAAASSSSEEEEE leave me a review, ne? ^^ I'm asking so nicely after all (totally not gonna admit to secretly wishing I could press a sword to each and every one of your throats and force to review for the sake of my selfish delight in reading them).<p>

Oh, and just a short little note; the thing about Norway and the oil and "That all our dreams have no limitation":

In 1950 very very _very_ few people believed there was a chance for oil to exist along the Norwegian coast. Apparently they were very wrong. Sooo, if we imagine that Norway's sweet dreams he only allowed himself dro dream at night was to somehow miraculously find oil along is coastline, then that dream clearly had no limitation. xD Haha -okay, ignoring that, oil is a bad thing and it's ruining a lot of bird and fish life in Norwegian waters. But just had to add that in regardless.


	9. Translation  Ch 4 I don't understand

**Song:** Fatter ikke hva jeg gjør galt. | Don't get(understand) what I do wrong. |

**Band:** Postgirobygget.

Here's a translation! Hope you enjoy :3

Everything that is translated from Norwegian to English, I will leave in| | . Just so that you can see the difference of what is "actually" spoken in English, and what is "actually" spoken in Norwegian. ;p

Also, if there are some sentences that seem completely out of whack, then that's because I found translating song lyrics a lot harder than I first thought it would be. . Aaand if you happen to speak Norwegian and have hear this song before, and don't agree with how I've translated, please point it out to me. ;D

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><p>"Hey, Iceland, have you seen N-" Denmark crashed face first with the floor.<p>

It was the third day of meetings –well, fourth if you counted the welcoming stuff-, Denmark had been up early, eaten his breakfast, heading for the conference room feeling great, only to stumble in the doorway.

Netherlands looked at him amused with lifted brows. "You okay?" Belgium next to him, asked.

Denmark's head popped up, his nose a little dirty, and he opened his mouth to answer- |An idle walk is the source of much harm,| Norway, easily stepping across Denmark's legs with his face down in a book, said.

|I walk as tensely as I can!| Denmark exclaimed after him, trying to explain, scurrying to his feet. Sadly, by the time he was up Norway was already at his assigned seat, engaged in dialogue with Iceland.

|Have got two legs,| Denmark frowned, looking down at his legs -bending and turning them a little just for the sake of it- with a sort of helpless look, |but no one to walk with.| He sighed.

|And then there's Norway,| and he looked back toward the smaller, Nordic nation, |I can't understand it,| he scratched his head confusedly, glancing about the room. And though he didn't see them, Finland and Sweden did see him. And, being the kind nation he was, Finland felt entitled to approach him. Besides, he was a little curious too.

"What is it about Norway, Denmark?" Finland gently touched his arm, making the larger nation spin around. Upon discovering who it was, Denmark grinned.

|He is so nice-| he pointed with his thumb to Norway |- I want to go over, but I never catch up.|

Sweden, -who would have preferred _not _to approach Denmark- looked from the nation in question to Norway. Though disregarding the whole thing about Norway, he instead asked: "Why'r' y' talk'n' Norweg'n?"

A brief halt was put to Denmark's Norwegian ramblings as he frowned a little. "Well, Norway began, and so I just automatically –but that's beside the point!" Like mentioned; merely a _brief_ halt.

|Should've been me who took the initiative and made him laugh,| Denmark pointed accusingly toward Iceland and Norway, making Finland mumbled with an overbearing smile at Denmark's behaviour: "He is not really laughing right now, though."

|Should've been me he held round the waist, and was the one he wanted to talk to,| Denmark complained, clinging onto Sweden's suit, only to let go at the glare he received.

|That's all,| Denmark's hands fell down his sides, and he shrugged silently. |In short; I don't understand what I do wrong.| He looked at Finland, a strange shadow falling across his eyes. For a moment Finland was put off a little by the honest look in the normally so carefree nation. When staring at him, into those light blue eyes, he thought he could see a tinge of heartbreak far behind in the old nations eyes.

-But then Denmark was assaulting Sweden's suit jacket again, continuing in a whining voice: |I don't understand what I do wrong, Sweden!| Sweden in turn looked about ready to kill the annoying blonde, and the feeling was gone. Finland shook his head to himself.

|The one who waits in vain, waits for something good.| Denmark had let go, and was now wandering into the middle of the room. By now he had also caught most of the nations present's attention, the room falling more and more silent as more nations noticed him. |Look what I've got;| he flung his arms out. |Something untold.|

Though they _had_ gotten quite used to the whole burst-into-talking-singing-lyrics-randomly by now, what they were _not_ used to was a nation singing in something else than English. Now _that_ made quite a few of them glance hesitatingly and questioningly at each other. Regardless, it was quite entertaining, and they had at least gathered by now that it had _something _to do with Norway, so... Besides, he also seemed to be quite passionate about whatever he was saying, so no one really felt like stopping him.

|What have I got to go on?| Denmark looked longingly at Norway. |What have I got to go to?| And stupidly optimistic he skipped across the floor toward said nation. Once there he climbed across the table, ruffling up the pages in the smaller's book in the process, and with a grin locked his arms around the much smaller nation.

|Nothing that temps,| Denmark was punched away, by air seemingly, as Norway had not lifted a finger. -Though by his own table, England jerked in a mix of awe and fright.

|What am I doing wrong?| Denmark crawled back to Sweden. Sweden however, only stared at him with his stoic eyes, most likely meaning to say: _'n you'r r'lly ask'n'?_

|Should've been me who took the initiative, and made him laugh,| Denmark got up on his feet, jamming his hands in his pockets with a pout. |Should've been me he held round the waist, and was the one he wanted to talk to,| but not lasting long, the pout was transformed into a lopsided grin and a sigh.

|That's all,| Denmark lifted his hands as if to show there was nothing more. |In short; I don't understand what I do wrong.|

A few seats away, Japan was securely positioned with free sight to the love-sick Scandinavian nation, camera placed steadily on the table for a stable picture. He didn't find the language to be of any hindrance whatsoever; it would take him ten seconds –tops fifteen- to find someone to subtitle this once he was back home.

|Should've been me who took the initiative and made him laugh,| Denmark sighed, pointing toward Norway. |Should've been me he held round the waist, and was the one he wanted to talk to.|

Finland looked up at Sweden, smiling a little. After all, it was quite sweet –even if the other nation could be a little obnoxious and all-over the place, and probably very annoying from Norway's point of view. Still, his feelings were honest. Finland suddenly felt very happy he had taken a summer off some fifty years back to learn the Scandinavian languages (well, now adays the humans also regarded him and Iceland as a part of Scandinavia, but still, the other three were the original ones).

|That's all, in short; I don't understand what I do wrong,| Denmark's shoulders seemed to slope down a little as he repeated it. Behind him, France smiled at England.

"It makes you feel a little sorry for him, non?" and looking back at Denmark he sighed, "ah, amore." England however, only snorted.

"Like you understand what he is singing."

|In short, I don't understand what I do wrong,| now it was clear Denmark's shoulder were hitching downwards.

"Perhaps not, but the longing in his voice is evidence enough. The feelings of love don't always need a language to be understood. Dear Angleterre, you should open up for love some more," France nudged him a little, making England battle a slight, bitter blush in thought of recent events.

|In short, I don't understand what I do wrong,| Denmark's eyes were cast downward.

For a second Italy, being the kind and romantic country he was, wanted to run over and give the bigger male a hug. He didn't know there were several with him who at that point wanted to do exactly the same.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, Sweden!| Apparently he wasn't in a need of a hug after all.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, Finland!| Denmark grabbed Finland by the hand, who in turn jumped, slightly startled.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, America!| in a flash Denmark was several feet to the right, almost literally singing _in_ America's face. –Though being quite the energetic country himself, he didn't really look all that bothered with it.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, England!| England however, did look bothered with it.

|I don't understand what I do wrong, Netherlands!| Denmark gripped onto the lower hem of his neighbour's shirt –ripping it out of it neatly-tucked-into-trousers-state – as he tripped when sprinting from one end of the room to the other.

|I don't understand what I do wrong-| Denmark was one second with Spain, and the other he was all over Romano. Though playing it happy all the way, a more and more desperate undertone had started to seep through his voice. Spinning around he grabbed for the next.

|I don't understand what I do wrong-| he stopped abruptly. Breathing heavily, he stared at the nation whose hand he had between his |Norway.|

It was dead silent in the room. Japan used his secret ninja techniques to move without a sound so that he had a free shot again. He zoomed in until he only had the two Nordics showing on the screen. He followed closely, holding his breath, as Norway sighed and put down his book.

Norway rose, standing face to face with Denmark, the table separating them and his one hand and both of Denmark's hanging across it like an unstable bridge. Then Norway slowly extended his other hand, and if possible, the room fell even quieter. His hand lifted, every eye in the room on it, and most intense of them all was Denmark's. Norway paused for a second, then he sighed, lifted the hand above his own head and-

"Ouch!" Denmark flinched, and it was like the room was as pulled out of a trance. Denmark pouted reproachfully at him. "What was that for?" he wanted to retract one of his hands to rub the sore spot where Norway had whacked him with the "pointy" end of his palm. However, he couldn't, for the smaller nation's one hand was firmly holding onto them.

|Fool.| Norway murmured. His other hand, still resting atop Denmark's head, fisted a handful of his hair and the smaller nation yanked the larger downwards, and- _oh._

The entire room stared. Stared as the smaller, Nordic nation kissed Denmark, -and quite passionately at that. He did not seem to have any qualms about taking his sweet time about it either, and Japan felt like he could die happy now –and he was undoubtedly _not_ the only one, if Denmark's wide open eyed were anything to judge by.

Then Norway let go, flopped back down in his seat, picked up his book again, and continued reading like nothing had happened.

(Though, for those who looked very closely, it would be possible to detect a small, satisfied blush creeping across his cheeks right beneath his eyes. And Iceland was looking just that closely, but also appeared to be the one the least surprised in the entire room.)


End file.
